All Girls Go Through Hell
by scarysamgirl
Summary: The animals in All Dogs Go to Heaven were a metaphor, a delusion of AnneMarie's tormented mind. This is what really happened. [tw: C.S.A., gambling, violence, mental illness, self harm]
1. Traitor

**Chapter One: Traitor**

The mud was cold and wet. That was the first thing Charlie Barken noticed as he slid on his belly along the tunnel his best friend, Itchy, had dug under the prison in order to rescue him. That and the darkness. The darkness was absolute. He couldn't see where he was going. He couldn't even see the small form of Itchy, digging through the mud, rocks, and dirt, in front of him. He could just hear both of their frustrated grunts as they slid through the narrow tunnel, praying there was very close up ahead.

They'd been moving along on their bellies for what felt like at least three hours when Itchy paused. Charlie opened his mouth to protest, but Itchy had already started taking huge gasping breaths in. A few moments later he sneezed. A few moments after that he gasped and sneezed again. This time the sneeze was so violent it knocked him to one side. Charlie let out a huff of frustration as Itchy's boots hit him in the face.

"Itchy," he hissed, "A few more degrees to the left!"

Itchy tried to glance back, but stopped the motion halfway when he realized he wouldn't be able to do it properly. Instead, he just moved even more to the same side, hitting Charlie in the face again.

Charlie knocked aside his feet this time, brows narrowed, hissing, "No! Your _other_ left!"

"I'm sorry, boss," the smaller man replied, continuing to inch forwards. I got dirt in my nose," he added by way of explanation.

They pressed on.

In the dim light provided by the lantern Itchy had used while digging this tunnel, Charlie observed his friend.

Richard Docksand had been given an unfortunate name at birth and an equally unfortunate appearance. He had olive skin, a long thin almost horse-like face, and unusually short body that still managed to appear long and thin. His fingers and toes were long and thin as well. Overall, it gave him the look of someone having been stretched out like a piece of taffy at birth. He wore overalls with a t-shirt underneath and steel toed boots. He had a baseball cap on as well, something Charlie couldn't understand why he'd bring _here_. Itchy gotten his nickname due to the fact he itched when he was nervous. Something bullies in school made sure to point out as often as possible. The only redeeming feature about the small man was his silky mop of chestnut brown hair and matching eyes. Charlie suspected both of them put together was the only reason Itchy had ever been on more than just a pity date.

Charlie looked very different from his best friend and had a completely different background as well. Charles Benjamin Barken was almost too handsome for his own good and he knew it, often using it to his advantage. He was twenty-five and muscular with a mop of hair that couldn't decide whether it was blonde or brunette and eyes that were a deep chocolatey brown. Basically, he was everything Itchy wasn't. Often people commented on what a shock it was they were friends. Charlie had chestnut hair as well, but his was streaked through with gold. Everyone believed he died it, but it was, in fact, just a natural occurrence. He was currently wearing a prison getup, but his normal attire was black jeans, black t-shirt, black leather jacket, and black shitkickers. To go along with his good looks, Charlie had also been born into a wealthy white family, a fact he kept easily hidden by the other fact that they'd disowned him. Another thing Charlie did was gamble. A lot. And before he could spend his entire inheritance on building a casino, his parents cut him off. For them, it was probably the right decision. Since, Charlie had been arrested several times. This was the first time he'd been given a prison sentence.

Itchy paused again.

Charlie sighed in exasperation again. He'd run into Itchy's foot. Rubbing his head, he asked, "What was that?"

"It's a pipe," Itchy replied. He didn't move any further.

Luckily, Itchy had made the passage wide enough that Charlie could – for the most part – easily maneuver around him to see what he was talking about. Sure enough, blocking their path was a very rusted pipe. At one point, it might have been painted, but it was hard to tell in the lantern light's haze.

Digging in a tool belt strapped to his waist, Itchy produced what appeared to be a handheld drill. He raised it to the pipe. "Here let me try this."

"Hang on," Charlie said quickly, "I think that might be a water main."

"Water mains are green, this is red," Itchy said confidently, fitting a screw to his drill.

"You're color blind," Charlie retorted. "You've always been color blind."

Itchy nodded absentmindedly. He wasn't really listening. "That's true, but this is green."

"It's red!" Charlie said without thinking.

"Red?" Itchy asked. He drilled into the pipe, trying to cut it half to clear it out of their way.

Almost immediately the small tunnel began to fill with water, which was the bad news. The good news was that it had also, somehow, opened up a hole in the earth above them. Itchy and Charlie clawed at the earth, trying to get above the water before it claimed them. Somewhere in the distance, the alarm was sounded as the water main burst up through the surface in a spout.

The two men pushed at each other, both eager to be in free air again. However, once they were both standing again, they realized they weren't exactly in free air. They were a few yards from it. They could both see the hole Itchy had dug under the fence and ran for it, shouting nonsense at each other the whole way.

"Don't think! From now on, I think!"

"Wait! My stuff!"

"Forget your stuff! I'll buy you more stuff!"

"Wait! My drill!"

"Oh, come on!"

"Oh fuck, I'm itching all over!"

"Not now!"

"I can't help it Charlie, I itch when I'm nervous!"

"Well don't be nervous!"

"Just-just scratch this…"

"It's not worth it being with you!"

They ran as fast as their legs would carry them down the dirt road turned into mud from the burst water main, gunshots from guard towers following them until they were too far away to be caught by their bullets.

* * *

A very old, very unreliable car was waiting for Charlie and Itchy at the end of the long dirt road. There was no one waiting inside, but the engine started much more quickly than either one of them were expecting. Itchy pressed the gas pedal to the floor and the car shot forwards, down to the road into the night.

"So what's the plan now?" Charlie asked, glancing in the rearview mirror to make sure they weren't followed, one arm holding onto the top of the car from the outside as they drove. His seatbelt was broken and Itchy wasn't the most careful driver.

Itchy shrugged, turning a tight corner tire-screeching quick. "I was hoping you'd know the answer to that one, boss."

Charlie let out what felt like his millionth exasperated sigh of the night. Itchy was his friend and he cared about him, but he was also a real knucklehead when it came to using his brain. "Well, I want to go see Carface," Charlie replied, looking out the window.

Itchy winced.

Charlie noticed just barely and whipped around. "What?" he asked. "What d'you know?"

Itchy shrugged. "Nothing, it's just that, uh, while you've been gone, Carface has really gotten the place fixed up nice. Really nice. He's making more money than before, but his goons are swindlers and he's not doing anything about it."

Charlie shrugged back. "Once I'm back I'll fix that," he said, his gaze going back out the window. "The business still belongs to both of us."

Itchy nodded, but he didn't reply.

* * *

A few years ago, Charlie and his friend Carface, had come across a half-sunken boat in the bayou. Other than being half-sunken, the inside was still pretty nice. For years, the two had talked about starting their own casino, becoming rich and then retiring to Brazil and, for years, it had seemed like a pipe dream. But when they came upon that boat, that dream seemed to feel like a reality. They knew they'd have to furnish and clean up the boat themselves if they wanted to keep from tax collectors and other government people. It would be illegal and they probably wouldn't make a lot of money to start out with, since it would have to be an underground operation, but they didn't care. Their dreams were coming true.

Then Charlie got caught robbing an ATM. It wasn't that big of an offense, but they soon caught up with everything else he'd been doing as well. It went to court. It was in the papers. And then, before Charlie really understood what was happening, he was being sentenced to death for a murder he did not commit. And just like that his dream was ruined.

For six months he sat in prison, knowing he was framed and being unable to do anything other than wait. He was told it was processing and his actual date of death would be in twelve months in case some new evidence came to light. In six months it didn't. Maybe it would've in another six, but by then it didn't matter. At month six, Itchy had, miraculously broken him out. He was free. And it sounded like he was coming home to more money than when he'd left.

Charlie could hear the sound of the casino almost a mile away and once Itchy turned off the road and went into the deep of the bayou to find their half sunken boat, the volume started to increase dramatically until Itchy turned another corner and there it was.

The ship didn't look the way Charlie had left it. There were more fairy lights strung over above the entrance in the riggings. It looked like there were people dancing on the tilted deck as well. There also appeared to be music. The entrance to the ship was different as well. There was the oval cut into the side of the ship that acted as a doorway in and out of the ship and was guarded 24/7, but now there was a red carpet leading up to the entrance, lined by velvet ropes hanging from golden poles. There were more neons in the windows. And there were windows.

 _Where did Carface get the money for all of_ this _?_ Charlie wondered, staring up at the casino in a state of awe.

The two climbed out of the car. All of Itchy's nerves from earlier seemed to be gone as the two swaggered into the ship. A rat race seemed to be going on in the back – an addition to the casino shortly before Charlie was arrested; Carface's idea – but it stopped the moment Charlie walked in the door.

Someone whispered his name, then they whispered it to someone else and before he knew it, Charlie was standing in the entrance to the Sunken Ship with every eye of every patron in the place glued to him.

"Hey guys!" he called out giving a dramatic wave. "What d'you know? What d'you say?"

"What d'you say? What d'you know?" Itchy replied.

"Itchy," Charlie asked, feigning confusion as he turned to his friend, "do we detect a look of surprise here?"

"Maybe we should go out and come back in, _again_!" Itchy replied, miming the gesture.

They were both grinning, but they both exploded into laughter at Itchy's pantomime.

"Charlie?" The voice brought them both back to reality. Charlie turned and saw an older man with a top hot and a glass of beer sitting at the bar. He looked genuinely confused. "Ain't you supposed to be on death row?"

Charlie frowned, his brows drawing together. "No," he said in a loud firm voice that left no room for argument. "I ain't supposed to be on death row. I got out."

"Things have changed since you've been gone," a woman leaning against one of the poker tables said. She was playing with a string of pearls in her heavily manicured fingernails. "Life hasn't been no piece of cake."

A smaller man with large eyes added, "Carface ain't been treating us too good."

Charlie rolled his own eyes at this. That didn't sound like him. More likely this guy hadn't gotten lucky enough times and felt he was being swindled. Or maybe he really was just that bad at poker. Some people were.

"Could you spare a couple of coins for old time's sake?" the man with the top hat asked. He was giving what almost appeared to be a rueful smile.

Charlie walked over to the one of the slot machines and pulled the lever. "Why have a couple of coins when you can have the whole bank?"

On the last word, he smacked the slot machine and, to the surprise of everyone in the room – including Charlie himself – the machine landed on the jackpot. Coins began pouring from the bottom. Everyone was in such a state of shock that for several moments no one ran to grab them. When they did, Charlie let them. Whatever Carface was doing was working. He had more than enough money. He didn't need to steal from his own slots.

Going back over to the bar, Charlie sat and had a beer, chatting with the other patrons. It was around this time that he saw Killer on the stairs.

Killer was the nickname for the young man that Carface had hired when Charlie was imprisoned. He'd gotten that nickname on account of how he used to be in a gang and therefore often thought the best way to take care of unruly patrons was by, well, killing them. Usually in a gruesome fashion. This was funny only because of Killer's appearance: He was a tall lanky kid with thick black glasses and a long nose to place them on. He was oddly proportioned too with a beer gut and skinny everything else. He had a mop of straw colored hair and beedy black eyes that saw more than you probably wanted them to.

It made Charlie a little annoyed seeing him again, knowing that Carface had so easily replaced him once it became apparent he was going to prison. Carface had said Killer's occupation in his position was temporary mostly because he was so quick to jump to violence, but now here he was all this time later.

Charlie turned back to his beer and took a long swig. Unfortunately, the only way to Carface now was through Killer. He was going to have to make that sadistic kid happy if he wanted to see his partner without a fuss.

"Hey Killer!" Charlie called, waving towards him.

Killer froze on the stairs as though he'd been caught doing something wrong. When he turned to look at Charlie, his eyes widened in shock. And for a split second, Charlie thought it looked like a different kind of shock: the you-shouldn't-be-here kind of shock. Then it resolved itself into the same surprised confusion that everyone else in the casino wore and Killer descended the stairs walking towards him, squinting all the while through his glasses.

"Charlie?" he asked, stammering slightly, another aspect that made his sadistic tendencies so bizarre. "Is that really you?"

"Yeah, of course it is, Killer!" he said, wrapping an arm around the young man's shoulders like they were best friends. "I was wondering if you could do me a favor and tell me where Carface is. I need to talk to him now that I'm back."

Killer nodded slowly, almost as though he were nodding to himself. Finally, he said, "Alright, I'll go find him for you. Wait here."

Charlie pulled his arm back and mimicked settling on the stool. "Happy to wait!"

* * *

"It's him, boss," Killer muttered, shaking his head. "I don't get it. Mr. Carface, I know what you're thinking, but I don't know nothing about this! We set him up for good." He'd been muttering long before he walked into his boss's room, going over in his mind everything that could go wrong once he told Carface the bad news. Killer was a nervous man though this came mostly from the fact his boss was much more dangerous and violent than he was. However, much to Killer's surprise, Carface was cool, calm, and collected. Almost as though he'd _expected_ Charlie to break out. Who knew? Maybe he had. Carface seemed to be okay doing things the hard way just because he liked the challenge it would bring.

"Killer," said Carface's voice from the back of the interior of a car that looked like it belonged in the world thirty years ago, "I do not wish that I should share fifty percent of the business with my partner, Charlie."

Carface was a heavyset man, dressed in black slacks, a plain lavender button up, and suspenders. He was in his late thirties, but really looked like he was in his late fifties. He had black hair and drooping skin, but a mean smile and black eyes that seemed bottomless and dangerous. He'd gotten his nickname from a car accident. It was also where he got the scar on his face that stretched from the corner of his mouth to under his chin. Like Itchy, his name had started out as a way to tease him, but eventually it became his name and what he went by while running the casino. Few people even remembered his real name anymore. No one knew this fact except Killer, Charlie, and Itchy, and, even then the only people Carface had actually told were Killer and Charlie. Itchy only knew because Charlie had told him.

"You want I should go squeeze his head with the pliers?" Killer asked, grinning maniacally, squeezing the windshield wipers of the car as he said it. He'd straddled the front of the car to speak to his boss within.

"Killer," Carface said gently, lighting up a cigar. "That is no way to treat an old friend. Friends must be handled in a businesslike way."

* * *

The bar grew crowded as the night went on. It went from Charlie and a few people sharing a couple of beers to an entire party's worth of people. Charlie had created a casino for that reason, but that didn't mean he had to stick around in it and finally decided not to when he got tired of waiting for Killer to come back. He knew where Carface's room was. He could find it easily without help.

Saying good bye to his drinking companions, Charlie sauntered up the stairs he'd seen Killer on and headed for the dark hallway that led to the bedrooms. Once of them was Carface's.

Suddenly the prospect at seeing his friend after six months apart was funny and Charlie couldn't stop from laughing. It wasn't until he'd finally reached the room he was looking for that he realized he wasn't laughing because anything was genuinely funny. He was laughing out of relief. A part of him had been very scared he was going to die.

"Carface!" he called, sitting in the small open area just outside Carface's door. "Hey, Carface, you descent?" He was still laughing.

The door swung open and orange light spilled out of the room and into the hallway. Carface stood in the doorway. He was a short man, but he managed to be intimidating anyway.

"Charlie?" he said, his voice full of surprise and happiness. "Oh, is it really you?"

"Is it really me?" Charlie asked, grinning back. "Is it really you?"

He moved passed Carface into the room.

Everything was decorated with red in mind. The armchairs had red cushions, the main color of the Persian rug covering the floor was red, the haze of the room was red, but it looked like even the wallpaper and pictures on the wall were red or had red in them. The only few piece of furniture that didn't have red on them were the coffee table with the radio on it and the car in the center of the room which served as a couch and a bed, depending on how Carface was feeling.

"Hey, you've put on a little weight," Charlie said, draping himself in one of the armchairs. He turned up the volume on the radio and bounced along to the tune in his chair. "I told you to stay off sweets. At least the place is looking okay. A little gauche, but okay."

 _Better than okay,_ his mind whispered, but Charlie's pride didn't let him say that.

"You know, partner, I'm proud of you," he went for instead, then he remembered the people in the room below and added, "But the customer's ain't laughing."

"Gamblers are never happy, Charlie," Carface replied, waving the statement away with the twitch of his hand. He turned down the volume on the radio. "You know that."

 _That isn't like him,_ a small voice in Charlie's head whispered, but he waved that away too. Turning the volume back up, he continued: "Yeah, but I've been thinking what this place needs, besides some new curtains, is some class, culture, choreography! And some influence of the theater! Dancing girls! What d'you say?" _Then even if they don't win at least they'll have something more to do._

"Charlie times have changed," Carface said, gently. He turned down the volume on the radio again. "I've changed, you've changed."

"What are you talking about?" Charlie asked, his brows narrowing. What was really going on? He turned the volume up once more. "I haven't changed."

"Charlie, you've done time," Carface said sadly, shaking his head. "That's not good for business." He spread his hands out. As if there was no other way.

"What are you saying?" Charlie asked, sitting up slightly in his chair.

"You're a man with a record –" Carface began, but Charlie's frustration was too much. He cut him off before he could finish his sentence.

"I was framed!"

"I know," Carface said, nodding sadly. Charlie had turned up the radio again. "You're like a brother to me. That's why…why…" He almost sounded near tears.

"Why what?" Charlie asked.

"We need to split up the partnership!" Carface burst out as though he couldn't hold the truth inside him any longer. Charlie studied his face. Even though he was upset saying this now, it was clearly something his partner – well, expartner – had thought very long and hard about.

"What?!" Charlie exclaimed. "Are you out of your mind?"

"They'll be looking for you," Carface retorted. His lips were pressed into a small pucker, his brows narrowed. "And where's the first place they're going to look, huh? Here. Here! I don't like it, Charlie, but it's for our own good."

Charlie crossed his arms over his chest like a petulant child and looked away. He didn't like his and didn't want to agree to it, but they couldn't keep a partnership if one of the two partners didn't want to have it.

"We'll set you up somewhere they don't know you," Carface continued.

"Yeah?" Charlie retorted, turning around, still angry. "Go on."

Despite himself he was curious about Carface's plan.

"Fifty percent of this is yours, right?" Carface said, gesturing to the room around the room. "Charlie, take it! You want a cut of the profits from the last six months? All in twenties?"

"Sure," Charlie replied, shrugging. He was more interested now than he was letting on. "I want one half of the cut of the bar's earnings too. I was the one who came up with the idea for it."

Carface only nodded as if that were fair.

Finally, Charlie grinned. "This is sounding better all the time."

"Then it's a deal?" Carface asked. He seemed eager.

"Well…" Charlie had already made his decision, but the way to do good business was to act like you didn't really want what you wanted. Especially when you got it. "Deal."

Carface smiled and held out a hand. "Well, put her there."

Charlie took Carface's hand and shook. The older man grinned, leading him from the room of red to the main lobby. The group of people at the table had grown, though from this distance, to Charlie, they all looked like clones of the same person.

"Boys, listen up!" Carface called from his spot next to Charlie on the balcony. "My former partner wishes to announce that he is going into business for himself!"

The way Carface said it made Charlie excited at the prospect too. He and Itchy could set something else up. He could make all of the rules and he wouldn't ever have to deal with Carface vetoing all his best ideas anymore.

"We're going to Mardi Gras!" Carface called.

Everyone in the casino whooped and cheered.

Charlie smiled. What could possibly go wrong?

* * *

Itchy hated Mardi Gras and always had. This was probably due to the fact that the first time he attended Mardi Gras as a toddler, he got separated from his mother for the entire duration of the party and ended up in the back of a police cruiser crying he had no idea where his mother was after a rather rough journey through the festivities. Ever since then, even when he grew up, the whole celebration seemed gaudy, unnecessary, and unnerving to him.

So if it hadn't been for Charlie he wouldn't have been battling his way through the crowds to the abandoned float he'd seen Charlie, Carface, Killer, and Carface's goons head towards. However, then the crowds had come with the parade and he was lost again. As lost as he'd been when he was five years old and crying for his mommy.

 _This isn't the same,_ he insisted.

And he was right. It wasn't.

It was much, much worse.

After Charlie disappeared from the bar, Itchy had gone looking for him and, in typical Itchy fashion, had gotten lost. He'd been turning a corner, trying to find his way back to the lobby instead of to Carface's room and found Killer with two other men around a bend in the hall. They were talking in hushed voices.

Normally, Itchy might've waltzed into the conversation, breaking it up immediately. He didn't like secrets and didn't think anyone else should keep any either. However, today was different. Today, he was going to watch and wait.

Something told him he needed to hear what they had to say.

"Did it eat yet?" Killer was asking the man to his right.

"Yeah, it ate," the man said, sounding disgusted, "but how come I got to feed Carface's little monster?"

 _Monster?_ The word registered late in Itchy's mind, ratcheting up the panic he'd felt ever since he'd come across this little gathering in the hallway. And then Killer said the words that made all of his panic feel at once justified:

"Come on, guys," Killer said, trying to use the assertive side he didn't really have. "You've got a job to do. Carface wants you should get rid of Charlie."

The words shattered Itchy's mind.

Carface was going to _kill_ Charlie? Or, at least, that was what Killer's words had heavily implied. But why? He and Charlie were business partners. Almost as close as he and Itchy.

 _But that was before Charlie got set to prison,_ a voice reminded him. And, as though the information had been planted in his brain, Itchy knew why this was happening: Carface was a greedy piece of shit. He wanted all of the money to himself. It was written in a contract he couldn't have that. Not unless Charlie was dead.

Now as Itchy pushed his way through the Mardi Gras crowd – he'd followed Charlie and company there after he'd found them on the balcony – he also realized Carface was the one who'd had Charlie framed for the murder of that little boy.

Itchy shook his head. It was all so wrong and messed up. This _wasn't_ supposed to happen.

* * *

Charlie B. Barken was drunk. Probably more drunk than he'd ever been in his entire life, which was saying something considering how much and how often he got drunk.

Somehow, Carface had managed to steal a float of a pink and purple dragon for him and their whole gang to drink, smoke, and make merry in. Though it was already an older float, the inside now was completely trashed and, if he hadn't been so drunk, Charlie might've felt sorry for whomever was going to find this tomorrow morning and have to clean it up.

Charlie continued to move his gaze around the trashed, abandoned float and, finally, they came to rest on Carface. Killer was sitting next to him, trying to get ketchup out of a bottle onto a hamburger, but, being very drunk like everyone else, was having a hard time doing so. Charlie's eyes flicked back up to Carface and some hazy part of his mind registered that his friend was speaking, quite loudly too.

"And I am sure that I speak for every dog amongst us in wishing you the best of luck in your new venture," Carface shouted to the people only half listening throughout the float. "And now, as a token of our esteem, we are presenting to you this lucky gold watch!"

A shining ray of sun was dangling in front of Charlie's eyes. He put his hand up in front of his face to fight off the glare before the watch turned idly to the side and he recognized it for what it was: an expensive golden watch, a red ribbon looped through the hoop at the top.

Grinning, Charlie snatched the watch out of Carface's hands. "Takes a licking and keeps on ticking," he slurred and then began humming to himself.

If he hadn't been so drunk and he hadn't been humming so loudly, he might've heard Carface say, "Killer."

Killer looked up from his fight with the ketchup bottle. His eyes were nearly crossed from how intoxicated he was. Still he managed to say, "Uh-huh."

"Take Charlie out back for the big surprise."

"Surprise?" Killer asked. His brows drew together, his hold on the ketchup bottle relaxing for a moment. "What surprise, boss?"

"The _big_ surprise." Carface mimed slicing a finger over his throat.

Killer's maniacal grin returned. "Oh! You mean _that_ surprise?" He squeezed the ketchup bottle too hard and half of it squelched out onto the palm of his hand and into his lap. Ironically, for someone as bloodthirsty as Killer, the sight of blood disturbed him and, when all of the ketchup splat out onto his lap, looking a bit too much like blood, he let out a soft groan and fainted.

Carface rolled his eyes. "You moron."

* * *

The pier was deserted this late at night. The Mardi Gras parades were long since over and everyone was at home in their beds, getting ready to work through a killer hangover the next morning. And as he led Charlie down to the edge, Killer, the man, thought it was fitting there was mist on the pier. It was almost too perfect.

Charlie on the other hand was so drunk, he hadn't questioned when Carface had blindfolded him and led him to the shipyard where his "surprise" was. In fact, he was singing to himself right now, some stupid song that Killer was pretty sure he'd made up.

Finally, they reached the edge of the pier. There was even a large red X that Killer had spray painted there hours earlier in case he forgot which pier Carface wanted Charlie to be on.

"This the mark," he muttered to himself, not worried about Charlie overhearing him. To Charlie, he added, "Stay here, and don't peek."

Charlie didn't hear a word he said, he just kept humming to himself.

At the top of the boardwalk was a large car. Carface stood beside it, grinning down at the blindfolded man at the end of the pier.

* * *

Itchy had spent hours trying to find the float Carface had stolen and by the time he finally had, they'd cleared out, already headed on to whatever fate it was Carface had planned for Charlie. So Itchy continued searching, looking all through the city, but he had no idea where to start and by the time he got to the pier, Killer was just reaching the top again, standing next to Carface, who was standing next to a car.

Itchy understood what was going to happen a split second right before it did.

Carface released the break and stepped away from the car. It teetered at the top for a econd before barreling down the pier, heading straight for Charlie.

Itchy screamed, but no one heard him over the sound of metal cracking every bone in Charlie's body as the car flung him over the side of the pier.

He was dead before he hit the water.

 **NOTE:** pray for me. and by that i mean, pray that i actually finish more than one chapter of this fanfiction ffs


	2. Surprised

**Chapter Two: Surprised**

Charlie was flying through space and time. That was the only way he could describe it. One moment, he'd been standing on the pier, waiting for whatever surprise Carface had prepared for him, drunker than he'd ever been, and now he was flying? Maybe he was drunker than he thought. Maybe the drinks had been spiked. That wouldn't surprise him.

Without warning, he ran headfirst into a giant golden gate, encrusted in diamonds and pearls. He hit it so hard that several of them knocked loose. They clattered to the ground around his ankles, which was when he noticed he was sitting on what appeared to be a rolled out Persian rug that seemed to run for miles in front of him and, when he turned, miles behind him.

"Huh?" he said, voicing his confusion. "Where am I?"

"This is the great hall of judgement," a light, wispy voice said.

Charlie turned and saw a young woman standing over him. She was wearing a pink sleeveless sundress. She had white hair pulled up in a high ponytail with a pink rubber band, however, her skin wasn't wrinkled. She had bright blue eyes and what could only be described as perfect features.

"Judgment?" Charlie asked. Maybe Carface had taken him to a club and he'd taken something there. Maybe this girl was his date for the night.

"Oh, not to worry, Charlie," the young woman said, turning around and beginning to walk through the partially damaged gates. "You'll go to heaven. Very few people go to hell because very few people have done enough bad things that it cancels out the good things they've done."

"That's true," he replied idly. He wasn't really listening. He was looking around. There were clouds everywhere. Were they beds? Was this a giant orgy hotel? He wouldn't put it past Killer to suggest going to someplace like this.

"Welcome to doing whatever you wish!" the young woman exclaimed. She raised her arms and spun in a circle, grinning. "My name is Annabelle. Follow me, please."

"This really is a lovely place you got here," he said. He noticed a group of children crowded around another child. All of them seemed to be reading the same book and content to do so.

"You can eat whatever you want," Annabelle told him, still leading him down the Persian rug road. "We keep a constant temperate climate of seventy-three degrees." She turned to look at him for a moment. "We're still on Fahrenheit here."

"Fine with me," Charlie replied, shrugging. Now he saw a couple, snuggling together on a cloud. They were fast asleep, but had smiles on their faces.

"Welcome to order and calm," Annabelle said, stepping behind a marble desk with golden trimming and sitting on a mahogany stool with a maroon cushion. She looked him in the eye and smiled at him, placing one hand on the cover of the very large, very thick, very ornate book sitting on the desk in front of her.

"Welcome to being dead."

"What?" The words didn't register in Charlie's mind for a moment. Dead? He was dead? No, that couldn't be right. He looked at Annabelle. "You mean – I'm – I'm –" He struggled to find the words, but there were none, so she cut across him.

"Stone cold, I'm afraid," she said, opening the large tome in front of her. She began flipping through it. Charlie saw photographs next to blocks of text on every page. It was about then that he realized the only way he could be dead right now.

If Carface's surprise hadn't been the kind he'd expecting.

"I can't believe it," he said, half angry, half genuinely surprised. "I've been murdered."

"I'm having trouble finding any goodness or loyalty on here, but let me see…" Annabelle muttered. She'd reached a page with his photograph on it. The text on the page only filled it halfway. This only made him angrier.

"But he killed me!" he half shouted, pointing at the text.

She jumped from her position behind the desk. "I beg your pardon?"

"A mistake's been made here," Charlie was saying, now speaking quickly, rambling, trying to keep this girl from telling him any more of the truth he did _not_ want to hear. "I don't want to die, okay? You've got the wrong guy up here. I was screwed over by this two-faced…. _dog_ that I used to call a friend. Well, I guess dog doesn't fit…dogs are loyal and he wasn't, but that's not the point. The point is he killed me right after I'd gotten out of prison and I need to talk to…to whoever's in charge here because I can't die yet! My time's not up yet!"

"Oh, it is," Annabelle said, finally coming back from around the counter. "There's no mistake about it. We know everything."

She started walking down the Persian rug road again. Charlie followed her despite himself, muttering angrily the whole way. "Murdered in the prime of my life. That Carface…I'll kill him." He'd been staring at his feet as they walked, but what sounded like a million clocks ticking all at once made him look up.

It was a million clocks ticking all at once. Well, closer to a billion. One for every person on earth. They were all suspended in midair, nothing seeming to hold them there. There were walls of clouds around them as though this really were a room, not just an abstract thought.

"This must be the watch department," Charlie said, glancing around at all the watches, wall clocks, cuckoo clocks, and pocket watches that were hanging in the giant room.

"You might call it that," Annabelle replied, walking to the center of the room. This room's flooring was tile and the heels she wore clicked on the surface as she walked. Like the rest of her outfit, they were pink.

As he watched, a pocket watch with a blue ribbon run through the center hoop on the top floated down in front of Charlie's face.

He reached out to touch it. Annabelle said, "See, this watch is your life…and it's stopped."

"Well, can't you just wind it up or something?" he asked, frustrated, reaching for the turner on the side of the pocket watch.

"And send you back?" Annabelle's eyes seemed to widen to half the size of her head. "Oh, no, no, no. No one's ever allowed to go back." She'd let him back to the giant tome. It was open to a separate page now with nothing more than a large line across the page and the word _Signature_ printed in script across the top. "Put your hand right here."

"What's that for?" Charlie asked suspiciously, holding out his hand.

"For our book of records," she replied, pressing his hand to the page and then closing the book. "Everything about you that was or will be is right here." She giggled and grinned. "Oh, isn't it wonderful? I love it here!"

"You mean there's no surprises or anything?" he asked, pulling his hand back quickly.

"Oh, no, no, no," she said, still smiling. "We know everything."

"That's just lovely," he muttered. He sighed and looked up. "The clouds, the grass, the air." His words dripped with venom, though Annabelle didn't seem to catch it. He was still holding the watch Annabelle had shown him earlier. She took it from him and placed it back in the air. It hung there on its own.

"Heaven is a wonderful place!" she said.

Charlie stared at that watch. He needed it. If he wanted to go back and get revenge on Carface and live out a human life that had a normal amount of years, he needed that watch. He could turn it back himself. He was sure of it. Why else would Annabelle have taken it away?

 _Annabelle is a girl,_ a voice in his mind reminded him. _She can be talked to and figured out just like any other girl. You can get anything you want from her. You just have to make her think about something else for a few minutes and the watch is yours._

Grinning at his sudden spark of genius, Charlie turned to Annabelle and said, "Say…would you like to dance?" It was a spur of the moment decision and he wasn't even that good of a dancer, but something told him Annabelle didn't _really_ know _everything_ about him.

However, she still seemed confused when she took his hand and he began to lead her in a slow, lazy waltz. It took him a moment to realize they were floating through the sky on a cloud. After he got over that, it took him another moment to say, "You mean, if I'm waiting for an inside straight up here, I'd know in advance whether I filled it?"

Annabelle smiled, her high ponytail bobbing. "We know how it all turns out."

Charlie smirked. It looked like a smile to her. "You must have studied dancing. You have natural rhythm, unusual for a girl of your stature."

The girl put a hand to her forehead, her cheeks turning as pink as her dress. "Oh, I'm getting dizzy!" she protested.

Charlie stopped spinning. He looked around where they'd arrived. It didn't look any different than any other part of heaven he'd seen so far and the clocks were still floating alongside them. His bad mood was back.

His eyes flicked to Annabelle. She was smiling and walking slowly beside him, looking around the palace of clouds and humming softly to herself. He smirked again. At least his ploy had worked: he'd gotten her to like him, to trust him. Good. Step one accomplished. Now to attempt step two.

Get the watch.

"Everything is so lovely here," he said. Annabelle nodded, again not getting his sarcasm. "So planned, so ordered." He frowned, muttering, "That's what's driving me crazy. I want to go to Brazil someday. I need a life of adventure. Not a…retirement full of nothing. Everyone says they want to know what's going to happen before it does, but that's not true. Everyone knows that in reality it's fun not to know."

Annabelle wasn't really listening to him. She was still walking and humming. She'd moved ahead of him. His stopped pocket watch was floating just behind her. Charlie glanced down. The pocket watch that Carfacce had given him was still hanging from the red ribbon around his neck. He took it off. It hung in the air naturally. He grabbed the pocket watch with the blue ribbon. There was no different between the two save for the ribbons.

 _Ain't it great when fate goes your way,_ he thought to himself, quickly hiding it behind his back. _She'll never notice. Until about three seconds from now._

Charlie wasn't sure where Annabelle was leading him. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know, but he did know he wanted to get revenge on Carface. He also knew that he wanted to not be dead anymore.

He began to wind the watch.

Annabelle stopped walking and turned around.

"Charlie?" she asked. Her eyes were overlarge, her head cocked to one side. She looked entirely too innocent. "What are you doing?"

He shrugged, not giving a verbal answer.

Wrong move.

Annabelle moved closer.

"What's that you have behind your back?"

Charlie stepped away. This time he grinned. "Wait till you see."

She rushed around him. He spun in time to keep her from grabbing the watch, but she still saw it. Charlie continued to wind it as her eyes widened in shock and she said, her eyes darting around, her voice moving too fast, "Charlie, don't wind that watch!"

"Now you're surprised!" Charlie shouted back.

"Charlie!" Annabelle screamed.

And suddenly he was moving again, falling actually. Falling through the clouds towards earth, towards his body at the bottom of the lake.

As he did so, he saw Annabelle, hovering nervously in the sky. She looked terrified as she watched him fall. She mouthed something and shook her head.

 _You can never come back…_

* * *

 **NOTE:** WOW. i actually finished this. let's see if i can actually finish the whole fanfic. pray for me guys.


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